


Hair

by Shipshape



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-29
Updated: 2017-03-29
Packaged: 2018-10-12 11:40:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10490124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shipshape/pseuds/Shipshape
Summary: This is a hastily scribbled ficlet in response to something from the Mchanzo discord.





	

Even in sleep Hanzo never truly relaxed. Jesse ran his fingers through the midnight hair pooling in his lap and searched his archer's still face. How many nights had Hanzo spent alone to end up with those creases around his eyes? He listened to the soft whisper of breath escaping a stern mouth. He loved making that mouth smile. He closed his eyes and drifted.

Again and again he combed his fingers through it, his sun-weathered skin a contrast to the river of ink that spilled down his thighs. It had taken months of careful effort on his part to earn Hanzo's trust, more for him to show this side of himself. The hair was the man's one vanity. It was the one indulgence he'd allowed himself. Jesse knew a wounded man and could see his own harsh life mirrored in him. Like drew to like.

He stroked the hair gently, unable to disturb such peaceful looking sleep. In the morning he might be sore for having stayed this way but it would be worth it. His worries, his anxiety, the gnawing fear that this would somehow end faded into silence that followed the flow of his archer's hair sliding between his fingers. After some time he slowed his attentions. His gentle vigil drew to a stop. At last he fell into a deep and dreamless sleep. It was his first in a long, long time.

He woke with the dawn. His fingers tried to curl around something essential. It should have been there, but wasn't. Jesse woke abruptly and fully with a sharp spike of panic that sang through him at the unexpected absence of weight in his lap. He stood up, blood rushing through limbs that creaked from disuse. Something small fell from his lap when he stood and hit the ground with a metallic clink. 

Jesse bent and picked it up. A small silver heart rested in his palm attached to a sturdy chain. His own heart slowed its rapid staccato and he let himself breathe. He turned it over, letting the early morning sunlight play across the surface. It reminded him of the locket that his Abuela had worn around her neck every day of her life. He smiled at the memory of his fierce Abuela. She would have approved of his archer.

The fall to the ground had knocked the heart open by a sliver. He ran a nail along the edge and prized it open. His breath hitched. Inside the two halves, nestled securely, was a fine lock of dark hair. Hanzo had trusted him with a piece of himself. He went to find his archer.


End file.
